A Song For Slaughter
by sentinel28
Summary: The Sentinels have only begun to enter the War of the Five Kings on Westeros, but if they're going to get the edge on the Word of Blake and their Lannister allies, they're going to need the Vale of Arryn. It's absolutely necessary to have...and Lysa Arryn doesn't want to get involved. It's up to Maysa Bari to convince her that she must...the only way Maysa knows how.
1. The Briefing

_**A SONG FOR SLAUGHTER**_

_**A Battletech/Game of Thrones Crossover**_

_**By Sentinel28A**_

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: After reading the first three books of the _Song of Ice and Fire _series last year (having read _A Game of Thrones_ right after it was first published, and then forgetting about it), watching the HBO series, and meeting George R.R. Martin last May, I thought Westeros would make a neat setting for a Battletech game. It has all the elements of one—given that there's five major Houses of Westeros, and five major Successor Houses, it makes you wonder if GRRM did a little BT back in the day. (Quite possible: dude's a hardcore gamer.) _

_Anyhow, for a few months, I let my weekly Battletech group conquer Westeros and we had a lot of fun. The results of two of those games—the combat drop on Winterfell—you can read in _A Storm of Snowbirds, _elsewhere on this site. I came up with a lot of ideas about a Battletech Westeros, but didn't put anything down to paper aside from the aforementioned _Storm of Snowbirds. _Then the other day, I was reading Dynamite Entertainment's comic adaptation of _Game of Thrones_ (which is really, really good, BTW), and it inspired me to revisit 31__st__-Century Westeros. Which would horrify GRRM, I'm sure, as he hates fanfiction…_

_I don't know if I'll do any more of these, though I love doing "between the pages" fanfics. Writing for me is just tougher these days, because of a very busy work schedule. I'm still doing _Snowbird's Shorts, _too, but those are just silly._

_Enjoy and please, R&R. I always love to hear from you._

* * *

_Sentinels RCAT Expeditionary Headquarters_

_Winterfell, Westeros, Dieron Military District, Draconis Combine_

_23 February 3075_

Sheila Arla-Vlata looked out over the city of Winterfell, still smoking three days after the Sentinels grounded on the planet of Westeros. The smoke came from the smoldering wreckage of what had been a Word of Blake company, destroyed by the Snowbirds in the initial combat drop. It also came from what had been a high-end residential district in the "new town" area of Winterfell, beyond the ancient walls of the "old town." Sheila, with the permission of the ruling family of Winterfell, House Stark, established her headquarters in the family ancestral castle. She did not plan to be there long.

There was a respectful knock at the door. "Come in," Sheila said.

The old wooden door opened and admitted one of the Sentinels Light Infantry, who came to rigid attention. "Commander Maysa Bari to see you, ma'am. "

Sheila smiled. "Thank you. Show her in."

Maysa Bari walked into the chamber, as usual, all smiles. She snapped to with a precision salute, but as soon as it was returned, she embraced Sheila in a hug. Sheila thought to herself that Maysa had not changed much over the years: it was over twenty years since the end of the Clan War, and yet Maysa still was baby-faced, still wore her hair short and close-cropped, except the long red braid that ran down her back. Maysa was not yet forty; Sheila was over that mark, though not by much. Sheila felt over forty, however. In the mirror on the opposite wall, Sheila could see that she still looked pretty good for a woman of a certain age with twenty years of hard living behind her: she was still fit and trim, nothing sagging, and her hair black without a hint of gray. Only the lines around her eyes and—Sheila thought morosely—extra weight around her hips betrayed the fact that she was no longer the twenty year old wonder heroine of the Clan War.

And now here she was, with Maysa, in yet another campaign. Sheila had lost count. Only the enemy changed.

Maysa was staring at her. "Sorry?" Sheila said.

"I'm not so cute that I'm distracting _you,_" Maysa returned with a grin.

"No, I was just thinking…" Sheila shook it off. Business first. "No, never mind. How are you?"

"Just got down an hour ago. Great!" _Of course she is,_ Sheila thought, _Maysa Bari is always happy. Chop off her leg and Maysa will ask if the procedure was fun._ "Hey, I really appreciate you assigning Vikka to your headquarters. She needs the experience." _And the protection._ Sheila heard Maysa's unspoken addition.

"Not a problem." Sheila motioned Maysa over to a table. Like everything else in the chamber, it was ancient, probably dating back to the Star League or before. The Starks were traditionalists; the castle would've been out of date a thousand years ago, but it was built like a Middle Ages fortress—albeit one with modern heating and plumbing. The holoprojector on it was brand new, though. Sheila switched it on. It flickered and then projected a color, two-dimensional map. "Welcome to Westeros, Maysa."

"I _have_ seen the map, you know," Maysa chided. "I did go to the pre-assault brief."

"I know, yeah. But what you don't know is the political situation. Victor threw us into the deep end on this one." Sheila referred to Victor Steiner-Davion, former Archon Prince of the Federated Commonwealth and now Precentor Martial of the battered-but-not-broken Star League Defense Forces. "I think it's because even he didn't know how screwed up this place is."

"Well, the Wobbies are here."

"Yeah, but it turns out the Wobs are just part of the overall picture. Hell, we and the Wobbies may end up being only part of someone else's war."

Maysa blinked. One war was bad enough: the Word of Blake's Jihad was in its sixth year, and showed no signs of abating. In fact, the forces arrayed against the WOB were only now beginning to take the offensive rather than fighting holding actions. She could not imagine the Blakists being only pawns in a planetary spat. "I don't get it."

"Me neither, but here's what Robb Stark—that's the current local ruler, by the way—"

"I met him." Maysa's grin got wider. "If I was twenty years younger and unmarried, I might've just made a play for that boy. He's cute."

"Not you too." Sheila smiled. Robb Stark was a kind and generous host, obviously raised a gentleman with impeccable manners; he was also profusely thankful for the Sentinels arriving in the nick of time to save Winterfell from a Word of Blake sacking. It seemed, however, that every Sentinels female openly salivated at him. Sheila admitted that the Stark boy—not yet twenty himself—_was_ kind of cute, at that, in a sad, comfort-the-puppy way.

"Sorry. Go on." Maysa was blushing.

"Anyhow, this is what Stark told me." Sheila touched the map. "Okay, Westeros is just like a minature Inner Sphere, which is to say, it's fucked up. There are five major Houses here." She indicated each in turn. "The Starks are here in the north. Geographically, they have the most land, but it's tough going for the people here; not too many people live this far north.

"To the south of us is are the Riverlands, which is House Tully land. To the east of them is the Vale of Arryn, ruled by—you guessed it—the Arryns. Over here in the Westerlands are the Lannisters; the Reach, ruled by the Tyrells, and then the deserts of Dorne, which is Martell country. The southeast part here, around the planetary capital of King's Landing, is House Baratheon."

"What about these islands out here, west of us?" Maysa pointed at a small archipelago.

"That's the Iron Islands—House Greyjoy. Pretty minor; nothing to worry about."

"Great. And this thing, way to the north of us. The Wall?"

"Yeah, the Wall. Apparently there's a bunch of barbarian tribes that live to the north, up in the tundra." Sheila rolled her eyes. "Well, that's what the locals call them, anyway. The Wall keeps them out."

"Okay." Maysa studied the map. She was all business now. "Where do the Wobbies fit in? We're not here to play politics, are we?"

"Unfortunately we may not have a choice." Sheila shared Maysa's sour expression; they had the traditional soldier's disdain for the politics that usually started more wars than solved them. "Seems the Wobbies arrived here back in 3069, when they were making their big push coreward into Combine territory. Seeing that the planet wasn't much threat to them and the locals didn't put up too much resistance, they left a small garrison and moved on."

"I get the feeling they've reinforced that garrison."

"Yep. The 7th Division, commanded by Seth Smith-Solomon. Piece of work; they were on Outreach."

Maysa blanched. "Surprised they didn't just glass the planet."

"No reason to. See, here's the deal: Westeros was ruled for a long time by House Targaryen, a minor offshoot of Kurita. They even use the same dragon sigil. The last ruler, however, was batshit crazy, and this guy Robert Baratheon overthrew him and took the throne for himself just before the Clan War. Takashi Kurita agreed that the last Targaryen was more trouble than he was worth, and let the coup stand. When the Wobbies showed up, Kurita had already evacuated the planetary garrison to help defend Dieron. Apparently King Robert wanted to fight the Wobs, but he was talked out of it."

"That was probably for the best," Maysa remarked. Planetary militia would not last long against House units; the Word of Blake was much tougher.

"There's more to it than that," Sheila replied. "King Robert is—was—married to Cersei Lannister. The Lannisters are one of the smaller kingdoms, but they're also the richest. Apparently they saw which way the wind was blowing and cozied up to the Wobbies."

"_Was_ married?"

Sheila nodded. "Robert Baratheon died in a hunting accident two months ago."

"A 7.62 millimeter hunting accident?"

Sheila chuckled. "Gored by a wild boar, if you can believe it. He was drunk off his ass at the time, so it may have really _been_ an accident. He's got a few kids, though, so the succession was safe…sort of." Sheila paused. "The new king is a kid—Joffrey Baratheon. He declared for the Word of Blake, possibly due to his mother's influence. I don't know.

"And it gets worse. The king's enforcer, or whatever, is referred to as the King's Hand on this planet. Up until last year, the King's Hand was a fellow named Jon Arryn, and he died…except Robb Stark, and his mother, and apparently a lot of other people think Arryn was poisoned."

"By the Wobbies?"

"Quite possibly. Anyhow, Robert brought his old war buddy Eddard Stark in as the new Hand; seems they fought together in the Fourth Succession War and the War of '39. Problem is, one of the first acts of Good King Joffrey was to imprison Eddard Stark and accuse him of being a traitor. That's him in the picture on the wall there, by the way."

Maysa crossed the room to inspect the portrait. Eddard Stark was a tough looking man, the picture of a no-nonsense warrior. In the portrait he wore local clothing, but the medals he wore were Kuritan. "He had the Katana Cluster. Why did Joffrey throw him in the klink?"

"Eddard is damned good, from what I hear." Sheila waited until Maysa returned. "As to why Joffrey had him imprisoned, we're guessing it was his mother again. That's what happens when you put a teenage mama's boy on the throne. Arryn knew something, and Stark may have learned what it was. And to make matters worse, the two daughters of the Stark family—Sansa and Arya—are being held as hostages.

"Understandably, House Stark is just a bit pissed off about all that, so they seceded and declared war. Knowing the king has the ear of the Word of Blake, they sent off a message to Victor asking for help." Sheila smiled. "And here we are."

"Great." Maysa sighed. She never thought she would miss fighting the Clans. "So what's our plan?"

"The good news is that the 7th Division never anticipated the Starks getting offworld help, and definitely not the Sentinels. When the Starks declared war, Joffrey declared them in rebellion and asked his good buddy Precentor Smith-Solomon to slag Winterfell. Smith-Solomon didn't need the whole division to do it, not against a poorly equipped militia force, and sent what we'd call an understrength battalion up here to curb stomp the Starks." Sheila's smile turned wolfish. "What's left of them are hauling ass to the south, and they've got a long way to run. The Tullys, here in the Riverlands, are allied to the Starks by marriage—Robb's mom is a Tully. The Tullys are staying on the down-low for now, but as soon as we enter the Riverlands, they'll jump in with us and the Starks. They've already quietly mobilized. Between them and the Starks, they can put a reinforced regiment of tanks and infantry in the field—only just about a company of 'Mechs, though. The Combine wasn't keen on letting local petty houses get their hands on 'Mechs."

Maysa nodded. The Sentinels were strong on 'Mechs, decent on tanks, but poor on infantry, with just a battalion of the Sentinels Light Infantry. The SLI was elite, but still small. A regiment of infantry and tanks could hold down secondary forces while the Sentinels went for the 7th Division. "So what's the bad news? The other Westeros houses aren't with us?"

"The Lannisters aren't, for sure. That's not good news, because the Lannisters are apparently fitting out a battalion of 'Mechs; they literally have more C-Bills than they know what to do with, and they're buying stuff left and right. Worse, the top lion there is Tywin Lannister. Heard of him?"

"Nope."

"He beat the shit out of Nondi Steiner in 3039, then gave the Smoke Jaguars one hell of a bloody nose on Alshain—and then if he didn't kick hell out of the Jags again on Port Arthur during Operation Bulldog. He's retired and old, but he's damn good, probably better than Smith-Solomon. We're going to have to hope we're better. He does have a sense of honor, I'm told, so maybe the Lannisters are just playing the field.

"The Tyrells and the Martells have declared themselves neutral, but the only one who means it are the Martells; the Tyrells follow the leader, and in any case they're not going to rebel with most of the 7th deployed in their lands. The Baratheons have been sitting on the sidelines too, but there's a rumor that their boss man—Stannis Baratheon, the former king's brother—wants the throne. There's a good chance they'll join us, but they can't put a lot in the field right now as Stannis has mostly a seaborne force, and God alone knows what Stannis will ask for it. That leaves the Arryns."

Maysa shrugged. "No problem. This Jon Arryn Hand guy got cacked by the Wobbies, right? Heck, they're probably _already_ mobilized."

"They are…but _not_ against the Wobbies. They're making no secret about that they're neutral." Sheila shook her head. "Doesn't make any sense, either. With Jon Arryn dead, the house regent is his wife Lysa—and she's a Tully too. Catelyn Stark—Mama Stark—is her sister. So she's got bonds of marriage and revenge, but she's not honoring either. The 7th Division is still well to the south, concentrated around King's Landing. If the Tullys and the Arryns combine forces, they can cut this battalion off to the south while we roll them up from the north. Then we can walk into King's Landing, free the Starks, and it's God bless us, every one."

Maysa almost asked why they even needed a bunch of militia to help them destroy an isolated WOB battalion, when the Sentinels were two regiments strong, but then looked closer at the map. The main continent of Westeros narrowed considerably from the north, before opening up again. Sheila, watching Maysa's expression and her eyes, gave her a nod. "Yep, you see the trouble." Sheila stabbed a finger at it. "It's called the Neck."

Maysa zoomed in the hologram. Two inlets—the Saltspear from the west and the Bite from the east—formed the Neck. According to the map, it was a mix of swamp and forest. There was a nice four-lane highway, the Kingsroad, that traversed the Neck north to south, but it was an elevated causeway, and guarded at both ends by two fortresses, Moat Cailin and Greywater Watch. "How tough are the defenses here?"

"Moat Cailin is supposedly built off of a Star League-era Castle Brian, but I'm not overly worried about it; fixed fortifications are monuments to the stupidity of man," Sheila quoted. "The thing is, all that battalion has to do is delay us for a few days or even a couple of weeks. That gives the 7th time to get their act together and move north, and we not only lose the initiative, we also lose any help the Tullys and Arryns can give us. If we can cut that battalion off from their line of communication down the Kingsroad, they'll either be surrounded or forced to fall back another couple of hundred kilometers. We get through the Neck into the Riverlands and some nice open country for 'Mechs. The Tullys are willing to play ball once we get down there. The Arryns aren't."

"You think they'll join the Wobbies?"

"I don't think so, but it's hard to tell. Either way, we need them. To paraphrase the ancient American Lincoln, it would be nice to have God on our side, but we've _got_ to have the Vale of Arryn."

Maysa saw exactly what Sheila meant. The Vale of Arryn was quite mountainous; it would be very tough to attack, and easy to defend. With the Arryns on the Sentinels' side, the regiment would have a secure line of supply and rear area. Though Maysa did not have the formal military academy training Sheila did, twenty years of experience taught her a lot. The focal point of this campaign would naturally be the capital, King's Landing, though Maysa knew Sheila intended to destroy the 7th Division, after which the capital could be taken at leisure. With the Vale of Arryn in hand, the Sentinels could even leapfrog across to Blackwater Bay and strike King's Landing, with the help of this Stannis Baratheon. Not having the Arryns would prevent all of that, or at the least, make it very difficult.

"Someone's got to convince Lysa Arryn that her best bet is to throw in with us," Maysa said at length. "And that's not going to be easy."

"Nope. Luckily, I know just the person."

"Well, her sister might could do it…" Maysa's voice trailed off as she realized Sheila was looking directly at her. Realization dawned. "No, Sheila. Oh, no."

"You're perfect, Maysa. You can charm the birds out of the trees, you know that. You know the saying around the Sentinels: just try to deny Saint Maysa." Maysa winced at her nickname, bestowed due to her piety and supposed perfection. Maysa joined the Sentinels at sixteen and became the best shot in the Snowbirds on her first mission; she went from the lowest MechWarrior in a lance to the second-in-command of the entire Sentinels in less than a decade; she cured herself of stage fright, learned guitar, and sang, becoming a minor Inner Sphere singing sensation overnight. Military people knew of Sheila Arla-Vlata due to her military prowess, but most of the galaxy knew Maysa Bari, who sang like an angel and fought like a devil. She heard the stories when people thought she was out of earshot. Some of them were true, most were exaggerations, and some were downright lies. Making things infinitely worse was the predatory grin on Sheila's face. "I bet Lysa Arryn won't be able to resist you."

"What if she turns me over to the Wobbies?"

Sheila's smile faded. "I thought about that, but honestly, Maysa…you're the only one who can do this. You've got the charm, you've got charisma, you've got the military knowledge, and everyone knows who you are. Everyone else is either an unknown, or has a reputation." Sheila shrugged sheepishly. "Like me. Everyone believes I'm half-crazy, unreasonable bitch. If there's anyone who can unlock the Vale, it's you."

And that, Maysa thought later, was one reason she should have stayed a MechWarrior and been happy for the work.


	2. The Climb

_The Giant's Lance, Vale of Arryn_

_Westeros, Dieron Military District, Draconis Combine_

_24 February 3073_

The Karnov alighted on an airstrip between two high ridgelines. Once the wheels were chocked and the ramp lowered, Maysa walked down. The air smelled clean and wonderful; it had just rained, and it smelled of pine. It brought back memories of Grunwald for Maysa, and Sancrist on Virentofta. It smelled like home. _But I'm not home, am I?_ she thought, and for the thousandth time, she asked herself why she was still doing this. Sheila and Senefa were different: Sheila claimed to dislike war, but Maysa saw the spark in her friend's eyes when an enemy flank collapsed and the Sentinels rolled forward. Senefa, of course, freely admitted that she lived only to fight. Maysa, on the other hand, hated war. Certainly she could walk away from the Sentinels any time she wanted. She loved the regiment like the family it was—the only family she'd ever known—but at some point one had to pull the pin, as the troops said, and call it a career. She was still young, and Daniel would be willing…

Maysa put those thoughts away. There would be time later, hopefully.

A tall man in battle dress walked to her, came to attention, and saluted, in the Kurita fashion, then gave her a stiff bow. Maysa returned the salute—Steiner style, as the Sentinels did, palm down to the brow—and returned the bow, as an equal, and held it a fraction of a second longer, as befitting a guest. "Lieutenant Commander Maysa Bari? I am Ser Donnel Waynwood. I hold the rank of Major in the militia of House Arryn, and _Tai-i _in the DCMS." Maysa noted that his battle dress was the tan and brown of House Kurita, but he also wore a blue cape with red trim, emblazoned with the eagle and crescent moon of House Arryn.

"Thank you, Ser Donnel." She hoped she got the honorific right. "I hope it's all right that I brought some personal guards." She motioned to the quartet of Sentinels Light Infantry guards—two men and two women, chosen from the elite unit on their basis of size, lethality, and fanatic willingness to die on command. They were all tough veterans, wearing the gray battledress of the Sentinels, with slung Rorynex submachineguns and polished naginatas. "This is Captain John Stengovich." Another exchange of salutes and bows. Stengovich did not smile. Maysa knew he wanted a larger guard force—like, say, the entire 3rd Company of the SLI—whereas Sheila insisted on ten and Maysa insisted on one or two. They compromised at four. Maysa wanted to bring Daniel along as well, but his post was with Gamma Battalion, pursuing the Word of Blake south towards Moat Cailin.

"Not at all, Lady Bari." Maysa found herself blushing at the honorific. "In fact, we would have been insulted had you _not_ brought guards, for you would be implying we were nothing to fear. Allow me to welcome you—in the name of Robert Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, True Warden of the East, I bid you enter freely and charge you to keep the peace," Waynwood intoned formally.

"Thank you, and we will." _I hope,_ Maysa added to herself.

They climbed into a wheeled personnel carrier, loaded what little luggage the Sentinels brought in the back, and drove away from the airstrip. Rainclouds clung to the mountaintops and ridges. It was quite beautiful, the Vale of Arryn, all green forest with white limestone karst jutting through the woods—again, very much like both Grunwald and Virentofta. Maysa marveled at the beauty of the land, and with effort tried to force herself into thinking of it in military terms—to see ridges as possible defense lines, to look at the fingers of mountains to see how one would best assault with a company. She glanced at Stengovich and could tell that was exactly what the infantryman was thinking. Maysa found she could not. It was just too wonderful; they could not fight here. Waynwood was silent, though she caught him stealing glances at her as well; Maysa realized that he was actually quite young, in his early twenties at best, probably not much older than Vikka. The tension in the APC could be cut with a sword blade. Abruptly he asked, "So what do you think?"

"About what?"

"Oh, um…the Vale." He rubbed the back of his head and grinned sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Lady Bari. I'm not much for protocol…"

She returned his grin. "That's okay. I'm not either." Stengovich gave a polite cough at that. "What's your normal, ah, job?"

"My family, you mean? Oh, we're farmers. My father owns farms north of here." Maysa checked his hands surreptitiously. They were unlined, uncalloused. She doubted Waynwood had ever actually farmed a day in his life. She and Stengovich shared a look. He smiled wryly, and she could read his thoughts: _militia, noble officers._ The kind that played at war when they felt like it, and were almost worthless in a real fight. Waynwood's title was inherited; he had not earned it in battle. Still, he looked eager enough, and Maysa knew one could make something of that. She caught the reflection of herself in one of the APC's armored windows. _And whose grandmother are you, Maysa Bari? Are you that much of a battle-hardened veteran? Didn't you look like young Waynwood here, twenty years ago, when you were a snot-nosed kid who thought she knew something about fighting?_

She and Waynwood made polite small talk, Maysa nodding appreciatively and commenting when appropriate. The drive took thirty minutes, then they pulled to a stop. The rainclouds moved on, and as they got out of the APC, even Stengovich looked impressed. Maysa could not suppress a gasp.

"Lady Bari, the Eyrie," Waynwood said.

Maysa knew from maps that the stark needle of karst that jutted out of the valley floor was actually named the Giant's Lance, but Eyrie seemed more appropriate: it hinted at a high, mysterious retreat far above the world, and the Eyrie was definitely that. The mountain seemed to go impossibly high, with a single waterfall spouting from its side, to fall in sheets of mist; Maysa doubted that the water even made it to the valley floor except as vapor. A dusting of snow cloaked its upper reaches, and she could see a castle clinging to the needle's side. "My God," she breathed. "Is _that_ the Eyrie itself?" She pointed to the castle.

"Yes, ma'am," Waynwood said with no little pride. "The three other castles are waystations." He gestured at each in turn. "Stone, Snow, and Sky." He nodded. "The Eyrie has never been taken in battle. It is regarded as impregnable." Waynwood chuckled. "Yesterday we did have a mercenary claim that he could 'impregnate' the Eyrie with six men and some climbing gear. I would like to see him try."

Stengovich was evidently thinking the same thing, but Maysa faced Waynwood pointedly. "Mercenary? I thought we were the only mercenaries onworld."

Waynwood seemed to realize he had said too much. "Um…he's just a bodyguard. Just him, Lady Bari. He's not a MechWarrior, as far as I know." The beauty of the Eyrie at once disappeared. Maysa remembered that she was really in some danger here. Waynwood sensed the mood change as well, and hastily changed the subject. "We'll ride a jeep to Waystation Stone, but the rest of the way is either by foot or elevator. I'll have your luggage transferred; you'll be staying at the Eyrie tonight, by Lady Arryn's leave." He smiled to show no offense. "We would be honored by your presence, Lady Bari, but I hope you're not afraid of heights."

She waved it off. "Not at all." Maysa chuckled to herself; Sheila would rather fight her way through an Elemental swarm naked than stay in a place like the Eyrie.

Waynwood excused himself while he made the arrangements and Maysa went over to Stengovich. "Six men and climbing gear?"

Stengovich nodded. "My people could do it. It's not sheer. Limestone has lots of caves and handholds. It wouldn't be easy, but it's not as hard as it looks."

"'Mechs?"

"No chance. But you wouldn't need to." He waved at the top of the Eyrie. "If you wanted to make a job of that, you'd call in an airstrike. Couple of big citybusters on that and you'd take the top off. Hell, a couple of Arrow IVs could do it. Whoever built this place did it for decoration. You could make a mess of anyone stupid enough to make a frontal assault, and God help someone who got caught scaling it, but the idea is to scare hell out of you. Think about it for a bit and it's an anachronism." Stengovich shook his head. "All respect to our hosts, but this Lady Arryn's off her rocker if she thinks she's safe here."

* * *

The jeep ride to Waystation Stone was pleasant enough, though Maysa was sure to ask the driver, with the edge of command in her voice, not to go particularly fast. It took only twenty minutes, but it was twenty minutes of hairpin turns and switchbacks; Maysa suspected that the jeep driver would have taken the turns at breakneck speed to impress his passengers. She was not wrong: after dropping off his passengers, the driver sprayed pinecones and pebbles as he peeled out and headed back down the mountain at hair-raising velocity.

Waynwood served them a small meal of skewered meat and onions, which was particularly good, then excused himself. "Lady Bari, I'm afraid I need to return to the valley."

The hairs on Maysa's neck stood on end. "Oh? Surely we're not going to proceed on our own."

"Not at all." He motioned to a woman no taller than Maysa herself, which was not considerable. Her hair was cropped short, though not like a MechWarrior, and night black, with severe but attractive features; Maysa thought she looked like a young Sheila Arla-Vlata. "This is Corporal Mya Stone. She will lead you to Waystation Snow." Maysa exchanged salutes and bows with Waynwood and followed Stone into a courtyard. To her surprise, there was not another jeep. Instead, there were saddled mules. "Mules?" Maysa asked incredously.

"Yes, ma'am. Is that a problem?"

Maysa did not know how to answer that. At length, she said, "Um, I guess not…"

"Mules are much better the rest of the way than vehicles, ma'am. More efficient and sure-footed. They'll not let you down."

"She's right." Stengovich checked the bindings on the saddles with an expert eye. "Mules are much better in mountains. I've been meaning to acquire some for the SLI, but I haven't been sure about how to word the requisition request for a piece of ass." He carefully hauled himself atop one. The mule flicked its ears, but otherwise paid no attention.

"Well, it's new to me." Maysa was acutely aware that all eyes were on her, and had the distinct feeling that not of a few were hoping she would fall off the mule trying to mount it. They were infantry, groundpounders, while she was a lofty MechWarrior, a queen of the battlefield, and an officer besides. Gingerly, with Stone holding the reins, Maysa got herself on a mule. When Stone released the reins to get on her own mount, the mule looked back at Maysa, inspected her with dull eyes, then returned to grazing at the sparse grass, evidently satisfied that she was no threat. "How do you make it…how do you make it go?" Maysa asked.

Stone clicked her tongue twice and gave a shake of the reins, and her mule plodded forward. Maysa aped her, and nothing happened for a moment, but then the mule gave a bored shake of the head and started moving as well. Soon the train was heading up the slope. The path was wide, but unlike the road up, there were no guardrails. The trees began to noticeably thin, the air grew slightly colder—though not unpleasant—but the view was magnificent. The going was slow, but Maysa decided to enjoy herself. She had never been on a mule or horse before. Behind her, the SLI guards chatted in low tones, as soldiers do; despite differences in rank, Stengovich fell into conversation with them. That left Maysa and Mya Stone. The problem was, the younger woman was as silent as the stones around them.

Maysa, like nature, abhorred a vaccum. "So, Corporal Stone…how long have you been in the militia?"

"About a year, ma'am."

"What do you do normally?"

Stone briefly looked at her. "This is what I do normally, ma'am. I'm part of the permanent garrison."

"Oh." Maysa smiled, but it made no impression on Stone. "I apologize. I did not know that the Arryn militia had permanent soldiers."

"A small contingent, ma'am. To guard the Eyrie. We _do_ have enemies here." Another look. "There are hill tribes. Small numbers of outlaws. They attack travelers, sometimes. We spend much time hunting them down, when and where we can."

Something in her eyes told Maysa what she wanted to know. "You've been in combat." It was a statement.

"Yes. Twice. Small firefights with the hill people." The hard expression faltered just a little. "Not as experienced as you, ma'am."

Maysa saw the small break and took advantage. "What do you think about the Word of Blake, Corporal?" It was a risky sally, but Maysa felt she was likely to get the truth. While Maysa was not offended by Waynwood's guarded responses—that was politics—she wanted to know what the rank and file thought. It would be soldiers like Mya Stone who would be the ones at the tip of the spear. "Please, tell me. I won't repeat it."

Stone chewed her lip for a moment, and suddenly looked like the girl she was. Maysa revised her age downwards; she probably _was_ the same age as Vikka, about eighteen. She glanced around, though there was no one else on the trail. Finally, she said, "I hate them, ma'am."

"Why's that?"

"We heard what they've done. On Dieron and other places. They came here and the King, he wanted to fight them, but the Lannisters—" she fairly spit the name "—they convinced King Robert not to fight. The ones I've met, they've lorded it over us. Act like they own the place, they do. We're hoping to fight, now that the Sentinels—you—are here, but Lady Arryn—" Stone stopped and faced the trail. "I say too much, ma'am. In any case, my words mean nothing."

"Why? Because you're a corporal?" Maysa chuckled. "Sometimes when you're at the bottom you see more clearly than at the top. That's why I asked."

"No, that's not the reason, ma'am."

"Because you're a bastard?" Stone's head snapped around, anger reddening her face. Maysa shook her head and continued to smile. "I thought I recognized the naming convention. Me too."

"You…you're…?" Stone's expression became one of complete astonishment.

"Did you know your father and mother? I know neither. I was raised by the Sentinels."

"But your name—"

"It means 'beautiful redhair' on Zebelgenubi, where I _think_ I was born. My adopted mother named me that." She inclined her head towards the diamonds on her shoulder boards. "Where I was, you are now. Where I am…" Maysa let the words trail off, knowing the girl was finishing the old saying in her head: _you someday will be._

* * *

They arrived at Waystation Snow, which was ironic, because there was no snow. This far south, a full three hundred kilometers south of Winterfell, the temperatures were a very comfortable sixty Fahrenheit, and in the mountains, only in the low fifties. Maysa noticed that Stone wore a light jacket; the Sentinels, used to the much colder temperatures of Virentofta, did not even bother with that. She read in the briefing packet on the way down from Winterfell that King's Landing, another 150 kilometers south, was humid and hot. She was not looking forward to that.

The stop at Waystation Snow was brief, and they were back on their way within ten minutes. Now the path started getting narrower, hugging the side of the mountain, stairs cut into the living rock. The mules did not seem to notice, nor did Stone, who informed Maysa that she made this trip several times a day. It was noticeable to the Sentinels, however, and now the jackets came out of their packs as the wind became a living thing, sweeping off the top of the karst. Trees and all vegetation but a hardy-looking green lichen disappeared, and there were pockets of snow. "That's unusual," Stone remarked. She was saying more now, comfortable in Maysa's presence. "My mother says she's never seen snow this far down before."

"On our planet, Virentofta, we'd be well into snowdrifts this time of year, at this altitude," Maysa replied.

Stone shivered. "I can't comprehend that, ma'am."

"Ah, but Westeros is tidally locked, right?" Stone nodded hesitatingly. "So it's nice most of the time, but every few years it gets cold?"

"Every few decades. My mother is forty—" Maysa winced; she was only three years shy of that mark "—and she's never seen snow except on high mountains. The northerners like the Starks see it more, of course, and the Wall always has snow. But not down here." Another shiver. "My mother used to tell me stories of the last great winter. It lasted a decade. People high and low-born froze in their castles and barns. Mothers smothered their babies rather than watch them freeze. Or so they say."

"And House Kurita did nothing?"

"Luthien is very far away, ma'am." That told Maysa how much Kurita cared about Westeros. Sadly, it was something no Successor House was innocent of; there were so many worlds and only so many resources. Planets became important only if they had something precious and/or unique to offer. Or if someone else wanted them. "Best to dismount and lead the mules here, ma'am. The winds can be a little scary."

Maysa dismounted, thinking she was getting the hang of this. She took the reins and led the mule forward, and abruptly the mountain dropped out from under them.

The Giant's Lance split into a crevasse here, and some brave souls had built a causeway across. It was as wide as a mule and a man, but not much more. On the right was the crevasse, hundreds of feet deep, with trees growing haphazardly at the bottom amongst smashed rocks. On the left was a yawning abyss. The valley floor was thousands of feet down, a sheer drop here, and the wind seemed to beckon Maysa to step into that abyss and fall to her death. Her stomach lurched dangerously, and Maysa made a mental note never to make fun of Sheila's fear of heights again. Maysa, for only the second time in her life, froze in utter terror. "I can't do this," she struggled out. Her mule blocked the path; the SLI could not help her. Stengovich's expression tried to give her courage, but that had deserted her. _God help me, I can't move!_

Stone reached forward and took her hand. "Allow me, ma'am. Just move your feet forward, nice and easy. Nothing to worry about."

"Says you!" Maysa exclaimed.

Stone smiled for the first time. It lit up her face. "If I can do it, ma'am, you can. Where I am…"

Maysa laughed despite herself. She moved one foot forward. Then another. "Close your eyes if you want," Stone advised. "I'll lead you."

"N-no…I think I'll pass on that." At least with her eyes she could see the path. She focused on that. One step. Another step. Ten minutes passed, then twenty. At forty minutes, they stepped off the causeway into a secluded glen, and then they were at Waystation Sky. Maysa felt like she had earned a medal. Stengovich—who to his amusement had to lead one of his troops across much as Stone led Maysa—grinned at her. "We're _all_ bastards now."

* * *

Once past Waystation Sky, the path was much easier. It wound inside the mountain, and though Maysa's legs were screaming by the time they reached the Eyrie, nothing was as bad as the causeway. Two guards stood at the top of the staircase, more for show than anything else, though their assault rifles were real enough; Maysa knew that, as narrow as the causeway and staircase was, two men could hold off an army. Of course, that was assuming the army was dumb enough to try a direct assault.

A gray-haired man in a spotless dress uniform waited on them in the antechamber inside. He was probably in his fifties, Maysa guessed, and his gray eyes showed he was no novice. His uniform was white and blue, with a different pattern but the same colors as that of the Snowbirds. He came to attention and bowed stiffly. "Commander Bari? I am Ser Vardis Egan, commander of the Arryn household guards."

Maysa returned the bow. "A pleasure, Ser Vardis." She made introductions.

"Lady Arryn wishes to see you immediately."

"Ah." Maysa hesitated. "Er, would she give us a moment to change? I'd like us to look our best."

Egan smiled. It looked like a fissure appearing in granite. "I'm sure Lady Arryn won't mind that. Let me show you the way." He gave a small nod to Stone. "Corporal, you are dismissed."

"A moment," Maysa said, halting Stone. She reached up and took off the clasp that held her braid in place, then handed it to Stone. "If you don't mind a gift. I think you deserve something for that causeway."

Stone smiled and took it in her hands. "Thank you, ma'am." On impulse, Maysa hugged her. Stone and Egan looked surprised at the breach in etiquette, but Maysa didn't care. As Egan led them away, Maysa felt that, if nothing else, she made a friend.


	3. The Voice

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: The song used in this chapter is "The Voice," sung by the lovely ladies of Celtic Woman. I chose it after a very long search, and it's used without permission strictly for literary impact. I hope nobody minds._

"Lieutenant Commander Maysa Bari, commanding officer, Rapid Deployment Force, Sentinels Regimental Combined Arms Team, and her retainers!"

The herald barked out the name and honorifics, and Maysa fought down a surge of embarrassment. It sounded so formal, and she was used to informality. Even at concerts, she was just introduced as 'Maysa Bari,' or 'the lovely Maysa Bari,' or something along those lines. Here, people acted as if she was nobility. _I'm just a bastard,_ Maysa said to herself with an inward smile. Stengovich was not helping, biting back a laugh at being called a retainer. Still, etiquette was etiquette, and Sheila had told Maysa to pile it on, thick and deep. Maysa strolled into the royal hall of the Eyrie like she was a queen and she owned the place.

Egan had easily acceeded to her request for a bath; there was plenty of grime from the road and not a small amount of nervous sweat. After a bath that was far too short for the heroic tub she was given, she combed out her hair so that it fanned over her shoulders rather than in its traditional tight braid; it was an arresting sight and Maysa knew it. Gone was the gray fatigues she had worn to the Eyrie: in its place was a dress uniform. It was the traditional white uniform of the Sentinels, with an hourglass design that started at the mandarin collar and fanned out into a skirt for women, but unlike the powder blue the Snowbirds wore, Maysa wore the colors adopted for the RDF: the hourglass was black, as was the cape. Five rows of campaign ribbons rode over her left breast, and below those was pinned the glittering Diamond Sunburst of the Federated Commonwealth and the red and black ribbon that marked her as a Knight of New Samarkand. Above her right breast were two small pins, one with a stylized BattleMech of a Sentinel MechWarrior, and the other a golden star, which denoted her status as the highest scoring MechWarrior in the entire regiment. Her rank diamonds were polished, as were her boots. The effect was striking, if the reaction of the onlookers was any indication.

Behind her, the SLI troopers wore their unit's formal uniforms of grey and white, their naginata blades polished to a high sheen. They were not allowed to bring in their guns, but the naginatas were considered ceremonial. Maysa wondered if the Arryns knew that the SLI's naginatas were far from ceremonial.

The throne room of the Eyrie was impressive in and of itself. It was circular in shape, in two levels: the lower level, where the court gathered, and the higher, where the throne sat; the throne's back was a stylized eagle. Large picture windows surrounded the upper level, letting in light and providing a vista of blue sky. Two staircases flanked the throne, connecting the two levels, and acted as balconies. It was very Greek, Maysa decided, with Doric columns, white statuary, and a stone-railinged spot from which to address the throne. It was crowded; Lysa Arryn evidently invited her whole court. Maysa inwardly sighed. _I would prefer to do this privately, but oh well._

"Welcome to the Eyrie, Lady Bari." A woman stood up from the throne. To Maysa's surprise, she was dressed simply, in a green dress, albeit a beautifully sewn one. She was an older woman, and Maysa could tell that in her youth, she had been attractive—but grief was etched on every line in her face. Maysa knew this was Lysa Arryn even before she introduced herself, which was strange because Lysa Arryn should not be as old as she looked. "I bid you welcome to the Vale…if your intentions are peaceful."

Maysa bowed politely. "I hope so, Lady Arryn."

"This is my son, Lord of the Eyrie and Defender of the Vale, Robert Arryn." She motioned to a child still sitting in the throne. He was small—or the throne was so big—that Maysa had initially not seen him. At his mother's behest, he got to his feet. Robert Arryn was probably about six or seven, Maysa guessed, wearing a intricately-detailed, rich silk, quasi-military uniform. His hair was a dark brown as compared to his mother's russet. He looked terrified.

"Lord Arryn." Maysa bowed even deeper this time, turning it into a curtsey.

"It is customary to kneel before a lord." Lysa Arryn's voice cracked across the chamber, suddenly acquiring steel in it. Conversation, which had been at a low rumble, ceased.

Maysa straightened and stole a quick glance back at Stengovich, then back to the Arryns. The boy looked at her, but his expression was still one of fear. Lysa Arryn's smile was still there, but it was a cold one now. Maysa understood: this was a test. She took a deep breath. "Lady and Lord Arryn, with respect and apologies. I kneel before no man, only God."

"You are a Christian?"

"And a Sentinel." Maysa wished her voice was as intimidating as Sheila's. Sheila Arla-Vlata undoubtedly would have silenced Lysa Arryn with a look; Senefa Malthus would have already been drawing a Circle of Equals. It was foolish, but Maysa needed to show strength. If she bent the knee to a minor planetary lord, it would look as if the Sentinels could be intimidated. Theodore Kurita was one thing, but in the scheme of the Inner Sphere's great game, Lysa Arryn was not even a pawn on the board.

Maysa steeled herself for an argument, but Lysa gave a curt nod. "Very well. May I introduce my sister, Lady Catelyn Stark, of House Stark?"

Maysa followed the other woman's hand, and concealed her shock. Catelyn Stark was supposed to be either quietly making her way back to Winterfell, or else in her father's besieged at Riverrun. Still, the Eyrie was probably a lot safer. Catelyn was the elder sister, but looked younger. She could see the sons in the mother. Maysa was getting tired of bowing, but she did so in any case. "Lady Stark. Your sons were doing well when I saw them yesterday."

Catelyn's smile was geniuine, but it did not last. "Thank you, Lady Bari. You being here is a great load off my mind. Was Winterfell badly damaged?"

"Some, but nothing that can't be fixed." Maysa paused. "I was saddened to hear about your husband. The Sentinels will do everything possible to ensure his safety and that of your daughters." Catelyn acknowledged Maysa's sympathy with a nod. Her expression had softened, but not by much. That was not good. People would do a lot for their children. Catelyn Stark looked tough, but when one's enemies held a beloved husband and daughters hostage, that might take the ardor for war out of someone in a hurry. Inwardly, Maysa knew that she should write Eddard Stark and the two daughters off as dead, but knew she could not; if it was Daniel and Vikka in the clutches of the Word of Blake, she would not write them off. _No,_ she told herself with a vehemence that surprised her, _I'd want revenge. I'd burn King's Landing to the ground._ "There's no limit to the depths the Word of Blake will go, my lady," Maysa said instead. "That's why the Sentinels are here."

Catelyn opened her mouth to say something, but it was her sister who spoke. "It was not the Word of Blake," Lysa snapped. "It was the Lannisters." Her voice was venomous. "Are you here to destroy them as well?"

_Careful, Maysa,_ she warned herself, hearing Sheila's voice. _We're here to destroy the Wobbies. We're not here to get into the middle of these people's dynastic wars._ The Lannisters aligned themselves with the WOB, but the question was if it was willingly. Moreover, Sheila seemed a little nervous about fighting this Tywin Lannister, and Sheila Arla-Vlata was not someone who got nervous about people. "We're here to drive off the Word of Blake and any of their willing allies," Maysa replied diplomatically. "Westeros' political affairs are your own—"

"More empty promises," Lysa shot back. "We know why you're here, Maysa Bari."

Maysa took a breath. She thought there would be some diplomatic niceties, but apparently it was time to begin. "Yes, well—"

"You want the _Vale,_" Lysa said triumphantly. "You want us to help you."

Maysa nodded. "That would be very helpful, Lady Arryn." She looked around the chamber. There were too many ears here; even on Virentofta, she would be worried about talking openly like this. "Perhaps we could speak privately—"

"No. I've had enough of secrets." Arryn leveled a finger at her. "It's obvious to anyone who can read a map. You want the Vale to guard your left flank when the Sentinels descend from the Neck. You want Arryn troops to guard that flank, and perhaps help you relieve the siege of Riverrun and march on King's Landing."

"Well…yes." Maysa put her most winning smile on it. "That's pretty much the size of it."

"And how many of us would die? How many Arryns, Lady Bari?" Lysa's eyes were blazing. "But you're not a lady, are you? You're a mercenary, a sellsword, and from what I understand, a bastard-born!"

"Lysa, that's enough!" Catelyn exclaimed. "These people are your guests!"

"No, Catelyn! She'll draw us into the Word of Blake's Jihad. She'll kill us all!"

Catelyn looked around the hall; it was obvious she would have liked to have this conversation quietly and elsewhere as well. "The Lannisters—"

"You heard her! They're not here to rid us of the Lannisters. They're the Kuritans' lapdogs." Suddenly Robert Arryn, who had been half-hiding behind his mother's skirts, began to cry. Lysa immediately turned to him. "Oh, poor baby. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout." She stepped backwards and sat in the throne, and to Maysa's utter shock, unbuttoned the top of her dress and pulled out a thick breast. The boy instantly took the nipple in his mouth and began to suckle. Catelyn looked disgusted, but the rest of the court seemed not to notice. Or were good at hiding it.

"She's crazy as hell." Stengovich said the words in Chinese, and just low enough for Maysa to hear.

Catelyn turned to Maysa. "Lady Bari, what _do_ you intend to do on Westeros?"

"Destroy the Word of Blake's units or drive them offplanet. Liberate Westeros. That's all." Maysa shook her head. "That's our job—but it's not just what we were hired to do. It's the right thing _to_ do." A lot of the faces in the hall looked skeptical. "The Sentinels fought on Dieron, and on New Wessex. We've seen what the Wobb—what the Blakists can do. Trust me, Westeros has been spared the worst."

"All the more reason not to get involved in your war," Lysa said.

"With respect, Lady Arryn, that's a very good reason to _get_ involved. And you're already in the war, like it or not." Maysa felt frustration building. She had heard this argument so many times before. Wars always seemed far away until they arrived on one's doorstep, and then it was too late. It was easy to say that it was none of your business until the enemy was breaking down your door. "Lady Stark's sons and your father have already raised banners of rebellion. As far as the Word of Blake is concerned, that makes them enemies. They will stop at nothing now. And…to be perfectly honest, Lady Arryn…the fact that you and Lady Stark are sisters might be enough for the Blakists to attack the Vale, whether we're here or not."

Lysa smiled triumphantly. "We're in no danger here at the Eyrie, Commander."

Maysa bit back the words Stengovich had said earlier: _you are not safe here._ It would only make things worse. "Be as that may, Lady Arryn, the fact of the matter is that the Sentinels need the Vale with us. Denying us passage and your help only makes the Word of Blake's victory that much more certain—" Maysa bit her lip, inwardly cursing herself for stepping squarely into a trap. If Arryn realized that the Vale could be on the side of the winners, then not only would she close the valley tight as a drum, she could take Maysa herself prisoner. Maysa glanced at Catelyn Stark. _Or she could offer to exchange me for her husband and sisters. I'm the Sentinels' second-in-command. I'd be worth it. _She cursed again, below earshot, in Gaelic. _I don't know who was more stupid, Sheila. You for sending me down here or me for accepting it._ Some of her emotions must have been on her face, because she noticed Stengovich slowly drawing the circle of SLI a little closer around her, and fingers quietly tightened on naginatas. Maysa opened her mouth to speak, knowing that, at the least, one more misstep and blood would spill.

Lysa Arryn spoke first. "You think I would _help_ those butchers?" Her smile was cold. "I can see it in your face, Commander Bari. You're worried that I'm going to take you prisoner."

_My God, Daniel's right,_ Maysa sighed. _I _am_ that bad of a poker player._ "The thought did occur to me, Lady Arryn." The SLI's hands were openly on their naginatas now, and hands on the Arryn guards drifted to their swords, which Maysa knew were not just for show.

Lysa suddenly laughed. It shocked everyone, even her son, who pulled away his mouth from his mother's breast to stare quizzically at her. "I would not break our laws of hospitality, Commander Bari. I am not, after all, a Lannister."

Tension left the room; at least, some of it. Maysa slowly let out the breath she was holding. "That's a relief, ma'am."

"That doesn't mean I'm going to help you. Unless…"

"Unless?" Maysa asked, confused.

"You can prove that you are sincere."

"What must I do?"

Lysa smiled. It was not a friendly smile. It was a challenging, hungry smile. "You are renowned through the Inner Sphere as a singer, Commander. Legend has it that you once made a Clan commander cry and leave the field just with your voice. I would hear you sing."

The chamber was still in shocked silence for a moment, and Maysa was slower than most. "Wait. You want me to _sing?"_ Lysa nodded. "And if you like what I sing, you'll allow us to use the Vale as a staging area?"

"Oh, I'll do more than that," Lysa replied. "I'll pledge the Vale to your side. Arryn troops will join the Sentinels—under Arryn command, of course, but we will conform to your movements, along with the Starks and the Tullys."

Maysa once more bit back what she wanted to say, which was that Lysa Arryn was clinically deranged. Fearing what would happen to the Vale, her troops, and the House of Arryn was understandable. Fearing the Word of Blake was eminently understandable. Betting all of that on a song was insane. Maysa searched the older woman's face and did not like what she saw: Lysa Arryn was daring her to refuse. Or worse, daring her to accept and fail.

And that made Maysa Bari angry.

"Allow me a moment." She turned to Stengovich and the others and dropped her voice. "All right, guys. I'm going to do this."

"You're going to sing for this demented bitch?" Stengovich whispered.

"I've got to. There's too much to lose if I don't." Maysa laughed at little, which sounded crazy in and of itself. "Besides, you know I like to sing."

Stengovich shook his head. "This is the nuttiest thing I've ever heard. Singing so we can go fight someone. Weird." He sighed. "All right."

One of the other troopers raised a hand. "Commander Bari, you usually have some people to back you up. Begging the commander's pardon, but I can't sing."

"Me neither," someone else said.

"Don't worry about that," Maysa assured them. She could sing without accompaniment. "Worry about what I'm going to sing. I haven't the foggiest idea."

Stengovich tapped his chin. "I've always liked _Sail Away._"

Maysa gave a shake of the head. "I need four other singers for that."

"_Yellow River?_" This from the trooper with the poor singing voice. _Yellow River_ was a favorite of the Sentinels, sung at the bars of Virentofta when the regiment returned home. It was a good song, about coming home when a war was over.

"That's not bad, but it's not exactly inspirational."

"Well, you can't sing _Can't Throw Your Granny,"_ Stengovich joked. Maysa blushed. _Can't Throw Your Granny_ was a filthy song, peppered liberally with four-lettered words and ribald jokes about the Word of Blake. Maysa had sung it once, to the great joy of the Sentinels, and regretted it ever since. "Hmm. Damn, we need something that really shows off your voice."

Just like that, it popped into Maysa's mind. "That's it! That's what I'll sing."

"What?"

She winked at Stengovich, caught up in the moment. "Trust me." She turned back to the chamber as a whole.

Lysa Arryn's smile was still there, and still rather smug. Maysa wanted to wipe that smile off Lysa's face, preferably with a Gauss rifle, but a song would do. The older woman had at least covered her bosom. "Have you chosen something?"

"I have, but I need some accompaniment. Are there any musicians here?" Maysa wondered if, with all the medieval trappings of Westeros, if they had court musicians. Or perhaps the Vale had an orchestra.

A skinny man with tousled black hair and a close-cropped beard stepped forward and held up a violin. "I'm a musician. My name's Marillion. It would be an honor to accompany you, Miss Bari."

"And I can play." To Maysa's surprise, Mya Stone stepped forward. "I can play guitar. Not like you, Commander, but with some skill."

"That's all right. This isn't a particularly hard piece to play." Stone left to get her guitar, while Maysa motioned Marillion forward. "Do you know _The Voice?_ The other one, the solo one." The musician thought a moment, then hummed a few bars. Maysa grinned. "That's it. Do a good job and I'll make sure you get a contract." Stone returned, and Maysa stepped forward. "By your leave, Lady Arryn."

"By all means, Commander Bari."

Maysa closed her eyes. Her heart pounded with fear, and her throat was dry. She summoned up what saliva she could muster. If she failed, there would be blood on her hands. _I am using my voice as a weapon,_ she thought sadly. _It's come to this. People will die if I sing. People will die if I don't._

She put that aside. She remembered Daniel's encouragement when Maysa had first taken the stage, singing with Dan's garage band in little smoky pubs and bars, then with more professionals, then in recording studios, then in front of crowds of thousands. Maysa was terrified of crowds. It did not bother her in her powerful 60-ton _Rifleman,_ but in front of a crowd, she felt naked, defenseless and alone. Dan had soothed her. _Don't think about the crowd. Don't think about anything. Just sing, and let the song flow. You're beautiful, Maysa, the most beautiful girl in the galaxy. You can do anything._ Maysa smiled, wished her husband was here. It would be the first concert he ever missed. _Please, God, if it be Thy will, give me the voice of the angels to vanquish my foe._

The song was ancient and Irish. Maysa wondered if she was Irish—her pale skin and red hair seemed to hint at it—and certainly there seemed to be something distinctly Celtic about her style. To test her voice, she gave a soft cry, gradually rising. Voices ceased in the chamber, leaving only hers, which was Maysa's intention. Marillion instantly picked up on the cue and began playing.

And Maysa began:

_I hear your voice on the wind_

_And I hear you call out my name…_

She opened her eyes. Maysa knew that Lysa Arryn was the target; she was the one that needed to be convinced, insane or not. Nestled in his mother's shadow was Robert, whose attention was now fastened on Maysa. _No,_ Maysa thought, _Lysa's not my target. Robert is. I convince him, and I'll convince his mother._ She instantly hated herself for thinking that, but knew she was right in thinking it.

So she addressed Robert Arryn:

_Listen my child, you say to me_

_I am the voice of your history_

_Be not afraid, come follow me_

_Answer my call and I'll set you free!_

The last word Maysa stretched out into a crescendo, letting her voice rise to the heavens and the blue sky that shone through the windows. She felt that feeling, one she could not name, when she knew she was singing at her best.

_I am the voice in the wind and the pouring rain_

_I am the voice of your hunger and pain_

_I am the voice that always is calling you_

_I am the voice—I will remain._

Maysa closed her eyes again, letting the music flow. Marillion's violin was right where it was supposed to be, and she heard Aya Stone's guitar hesitantly join in, then with more confidence.

_I am the voice in the fields when the summer's gone_

_The dance of the leaves when the autumn winds blow_

_Never do I sleep throughout all the winter long_

_I am the force that in springtime will grow._

That was the reason, she reflected for a moment, why she had chosen this song. Westeros' long summers spoiled the people, then winter came and hit with a fury that terrified and killed. It was just like war: peace spoiled people, and then when war came, it too made them afraid and it killed and maimed them. But there was always a spring after winter, and always hope. Maysa Bari always believed that. Others might fall victim to their fears, or give up hope, but never Maysa. She could not. She would not. She had to give these people hope, that winter might be coming, but with the Sentinels came spring, if they would only fight for it.

She paused, to let Marillion and Stone catch up. Now they were heading into the climax of the song, and Maysa took a deep breath. It was the home stretch. Her enemy was breaking, she could feel it, knew the elation that Sheila felt, the thing that kept her friend going through twenty years of war and hardship. She had the audience now, enthralled, and knew it.

_I am the voice of the past that will always be_

_Filled with my sorrow and blood in my fields_

In her mind's eye, Maysa saw the ranks of BattleMechs, waiting for the orders that would send them forward. People would die because of her voice. People would die in spite of it. Maysa began to cry, the tears welling and falling across her cheeks, and her voice became at once sorrowful and yet more triumphant.

_I am the voice of the future_

_Bring me your peace…bring me your peace and my wounds, they will heal._

Stengovich and the other SLI troops began stomping their feet in time, and gradually so did the others.

_I am the voice in the wind and the pouring rain_

_I am the voice of your hunger and pain_

_I am the voice that always is calling you_

Maysa raised her hands, in supplication to God, in sorrow and in victory, because she knew she had won, and knew what the consequences of that victory would be.

_I am the voice of the past that will always be_

_I am the voice of your hunger and pain_

_I am the voice of the future_

_I am the voice!_

Her voice rebounded off the walls of the chamber, and echoed down the halls.

And then it was over. As the last notes faded away, she looked around. Silence ruled the chamber. There were open expressions of shock, but there were some grins, too. Maysa reflected that, if nothing else, she had done her best.

Then someone began to clap. To her surprise—Maysa realized she had quite forgotten him—it was little Robert Arryn, who was on his feet, smiling from ear to ear. Then others joined in, then the entire chamber. Cheers followed, and Maysa saw Stengovich wink. _All the world's a stage,_ she thought, and bowed deeply, then motioned Mya Stone and Marillion forward, allowing them to take the bows with her.

At last, Lysa Arryn—who looked quite shocked—regained her composure and motioned for silence. When she had it, she looked at Maysa. She sighed, and to Maysa's surprise, she wiped away a tear. Maysa would never know if the tears were a result of the song, or the result of what the song would bring. "Commander Bari."

"Lady Arryn?"

A pause. "You shall have your troops…and the Vale."

The cheers were even louder now. "You did it!" Stengovich said over the noise.

Maysa looked down. "Yes." She also wiped away a tear, but she knew what her tears were for. "I did."


End file.
